…
…
Her eyes started into the shadows that devoured the details of the traditional room—those parts, those unidentifiable parts kept her awake in the dark. Her body shuddered on the futon—without a conscious notion, she pulled the blanket closer to herself to counteract the nocturnal chill that pervaded the old house. A pretty, traditional house in the middle of the silent stillness of the picturesque nature and a suspected murderer as a husband.
Her fears were baseless. Her presence was accepted into the antimonious web of relations that she had learnt how to manoeuvre. A hidden, small part of herself fancied to accept her position as the peacekeeper and her newfound life in the embrace of the nature, far from the bustle of the urban environment—but the truth screamed, screamed from a decade of slumber and demanded aloud to be uncovered. A desire for the truth underneath was the desire that had burned in her heart since childhood, the desire to ascertain the hidden schemes of the criminals. Her mind flashed memories, memories of her childhood friend and the murder and her final decision—
A sharp whistle penetrated the silence.
A shot. A silenced shot.
Her inner police detective resurrected in her immediate reaction. Flashlamp in hand, her form flashed in the dark corridor in approach of what could have been the scene of a crime. Her rush led her to the backyard—obscure, cold, devoid—and her arms moved to shield her from the winter winds that bit more in the detached and unkind darkness. Her feet sank into a cold wetness as she took disciplined steps in the accumulated crispy snow that rimmed the terrace.
A bounce of white approached her fast.
"Hiro—"
Her husky was unusually upset. He bared his teeth, bounced up and down like a ball in his desperate tries to convey a word without the voice of humans. He noticed the intruder, she realised, and was thankful for her smart and attentive animal companion.
"Lead me there."
A couple of minutes later, she stood in front of the shack.
Hiro stopped in his track and emitted a sound akin to a whimper. Her clothes were soaked from the snow and she started to feel the low temperature slow her down, but there was a more important matter to look into. Her hand twisted the knob and found the door unlocked—her mind set off alarms, she remembered to have locked it when she retreated into the house after sunset. Her cautious mind kicked in when she peeked inside the unlit premise—dark, so dark that an accurate inspection was blunt impossible. Her resolve hardened and she ripped the door open, but—she did not know what to expect. There was dead silence in there.
Then, she switched on the flashlamp.
…
…
February 17th, 1996
…
Shinichi woke up to intent shininess.
He rubbed his head as he tried to recollect what had happened the previous day—oh, yes. That had been one of the occasions where the sheer amount of information compensated the lack of physical action to the point that he had passed out from exhaustion. He remembered the mentioned syndicate assembly and could already feel the cold of the pressure. He was scared deep down, scared that he would have to reexperience the loss of all—
His wanted to listen to the breaths next to him forever.
Ran.
Her back rose and sank in a calm manner as she leaned to his matrass to rest. Her entire existence radiated so much peace that for a moment, he was enchanted. Her face reflected a childlike innocence, unbothered with the cruel world outside. Her lips moved with a faint mumble of her dreams—his name, his name was on those lips, but that could have been his wishful fantasies. A lock of her silk hair slipped forward, caressed her cheek and came to a rest on her nose—he reached out and moved the froward strands behind her ear. He placed a hand on her head while he was there and stroke those familiar fuscous locks—so soft, so beautiful.
He remembered her distress at the truth, the full truth about him. Her persistence to remain at his side convinced him to let her watch over him, and thus, she remained, she did even when the discussion about the important events had been concluded. He had fallen asleep and still, she remained.
His heart broke that this innocent person would have to face his enemies, but—he was a fallible human in the end, who could not live without her. His shrunken persona surrounded with lies and falsehoods had been able to conceal the truth from her. His ambitious persona from a month before would have been able to deceive her, to keep her safe at the cost of her trust. However, now—now it was different. He was unable to lie to this person.
He was. He was more than ever.
He stood up and walked over to her. Her face was the epitome of peace and health, but her choice of position was not. He placed his hands onto her shoulders and started to shake her awake. He called her name a couple of times to earn a response.
"Shin…chi—"
"Ran, you should sit up."
"Hmm."
Her face buried itself into the white bedsheets.
"Ran, please. You can take the bed, just move from here."
"Hmm-mm."
He could not help the smile at the weak protest, which carried a will of action underneath. He moved on an instant to support her onto the comfortable heap of pillows and blankets when he deemed her cooperative, but to his mistake of assessment, she fell back to sleep. He felt bad to have woken her when she was so exhausted, but there was no way back—he, wait. Her face leaned to his chest like he was the most comfortable pillow in the world.
He still believed that an actual one was better.
He placed her onto the bed with care unheard of. He searched for the short side of the blanket and covered her with its warmth. A satisfied mumble could be heard from under the bundle—she was comfortable. He took her place on the chair and watched her drift back into dreamland. He wondered how late she had been up—it must have been late, she was so tired. He rubbed her back as the peace returned to her face. He had no idea what those damned crows had in store for them, but he swore to protect that peace and innocence, no matter the cost. He would work himself to death if needed to ensure her happiness this time—no, all time.
A sound.
Back.
He moved to shield her from—oh.
Kogoro reacted like an unknown abomination had spawned out of nowhere. He leaned to the doorframe with a hand over his heart, consciously tried and failed to calm his breaths—well, it looked like the startle went vice versa. He shuddered after he collected himself.
"Dammit, Kudo. I thought that a stranger was in the room for a moment."
He tried to convince his own mind that it was a false alarm too.
"Shut it, old man. You were the real scare here."
"… I already hate paranoia."
"I can understand." He stated with casual ease, none of the memories of what true paranoia meant showed on the surface. "However, a bunch of paranoic detectives on a hunt for paranoic criminals bounds to cause even more paranoia. So, did you come to see her?"
"I would have tried her room in that case, not yours."
He raised an expectant eyebrow, his demand for information obvious.
"Akemi-san and her two accomplices planned to use a car to escape after the bank incident—Mazda, Shinjuku 23-1445. I have mentioned that a male accomplice used their car to ditch them and in return, she and the other accomplice stole a police car to chase down their traitor." Kogoro set up the known facts. "Ever since, the police have been on a lookout for those two cars to capture them and put a period on the case. As you predicted, there was no success with the stolen police car, but a couple of hours before, the other one was spotted at the border of Nagano prefecture, from where it headed towards Karuizawa city."
He looked up hopefully.
"A pair of officers at the resident police box testified that a car that matched the warrant description well drove towards the borders dead on seven. As they knew about the incident, they attempted to pull them over, but the driver wheezed past them. However, they had the situational awareness to pin down the license number—it was a match. Nagano police released that he has not passed the proximity of Karuizawa—which means, he must be still in the prefecture."
"Hell yes!"
He was on his feet immediately. He paced up and down in the room in anticipation as his tactician mind kicked in. Akemi had information on where the traitor was headed towards, that much he could determine from the more detailed report the old man had delivered once the call with their newest accomplice ended. He attributed that fact to a kind of tracker built in the car—whether it was their own choice or the codenamed members' moodiness to keep tabs on them was unclear. Her choices that had a slim chance to avoid a premature death were limited to one nevertheless: take the matter and thus, the role of the enforcer into her hands and confront the traitor before whoever was sent could.
He must intervene.
He must intervene, the information for which he had received in the previous moment.
Nagano.
Nagano was mountains most part, which were famous for their lack of reception—no convenient solutions, then. His plans to have her sister convince her was out the window when the said person used a cell phone as the sole form of communication. He would have to track her down at the end of the line, but the catch was not that—oh, that kind of work was his favoured piece of cake. He accounted for trouble when he would have to convince her that he was not a conman who ripped the unfortunate off, or worse, sold them out to the syndicate. Haibara had been quick, there was not even a need for evidence with her future memories.
Akemi was, however, a different case.
Akemi would want evidence.
He had missed his best shot. He had planned to pull the curtains on her attempted crime and reveal his abilities—at the blatant truth, she would have been inclined to believe him. Now, that scenario was out of relevance, so he had to fabricate another for that purpose. He was used to the fact that people trusted him unconditionally, both personally him and his alternate persona—now, that would be different this time. A member of theirs, be it forced or low ranked, would not be one for free trust. He would need to earn that trust for her to take his extended hand, for him to save her life. He needed her to live, to wash that red blood off himself—stop, stop!
"—lost track of it. Kudo—hey, listen—"
He snapped out.
"Karuizawa police screwed up, yeah."
Kogoro frowned, but remained silent about that.
"However, one thing is beyond me. Akemi-san and her accomplice. How come that there were no cars that matched the description of the one stolen from the police seen anywhere afterwards? You have predicted this outcome, but never explained the deduction behind it."
"Ah, that. They used the tunnel system."
"The what—"
He rolled his eyes.
"You think that for those who built entire cities hidden under the actual ones did not occur the idea to establish an infrastructure to connect said cities? Japan in its entirety lays on a web of roads—more like tunnels, which serve as a secret transportation system that bypasses the eye of the law. Every criminal worth their salt uses that system to travel across prefectures in order to avoid arrest—for a nice fare on the benefit of the one who rule it."
"Literal underworld, huh."
He started another circle in the room.
"Akemi-san entered the tunnel system in Tokyo and exited somewhere in Nagano—hence, nobody had seen their car cross the border. Her accomplice on the run could not do the same—he is a traitor, a tunnel system overseen by those he betrayed would have been a death trap. I know of two exits in the prefecture in question—one in the prefectural capital, Nagano, and another in Ueda. My experience dictates that their choice would be the second one."
"Mind to elaborate?"
"Think about the situation. You would probably not try to swindle a criminal syndicate notorious for its cruelty towards traitors, but should you for some reason do that nevertheless, you would want to leave as soon as possible. You have to escape from both the police that searches for you because of the crime you committed and your previous co-workers who want to kill you. You would leave the city first, to shake off the police. With the local airport out of question, you have to leave for another prefecture. You search for all the available international airports in the area and find where the closest one is, so you dash off in your stolen car in the shortest route in that direction."
Kogoro tapped his chin.
"Nagano does have an international airport…"
"He has a load of money on him, which the syndicate desperately needs for some reason. I have always been curious about this incident, more than about any other—why, why an association of people with insane resources had to rob a bank. I would bet on a test for a newer subordinate or an unexpected financial situation from experience, but the truth has always been unclear. I only know that they will retrieve that money even if hell freezes over."
"I see, but how do we come into this?"
"How much do you know about Nagano?"
Kogoro was taken aback.
"Not much, honestly."
"From Karuizawa, one can take two routes to the prefectural capital: the Saku—Hokuto—Matsumoto line, or Ueda. The first one takes a decent detour into the heart of the prefecture but avoids the places where the syndicate could cut in on them. The second one, on the other hand, is a lot shorter but touches upon an exit from the tunnel system. Return to our example: if you were on the run, which would you choose—the one where you could travel relatively safely but would lose precious time and increase the chance that your pursuers would prepare an ambush at the airport where you are headed, or the faster but riskier one."
"You make it sound like the answer is the second one."
"It is. Time out here means death."
"Kudo—"
"Akemi-san knows that well too, and so does she the best place to intercept her treacherous accomplice. I know that she will intercept him, because she wants to escape retaliation and she has to present someone else to blame for that. Her bosses care little about who was at fault—was it a success, or was it not. Her bosses treat the three of them as a team—if someone turned on them, then the team turned on them, well, unless the opposite is obvious. However, the traitor is aware of that too and will take all chances to save his hide, as he knows that he is dead man in the moment he is captured. I—now, look at this situation. You have two people, well, two sides, with no vendettas that would make them take the lives of each other and somehow, they still commit that to keep themselves and their families safe."
His expression reflected an emotion so cold, so—detached.
"Akemi has no orders and still, she will abide the standards because she knows how the syndicate operates. And that is not the worst—the worst is that not a person would be the wiser. If the police became involved, their lack of information would lead them to the conclusion that the incident was a fallout between partners in crime. No one would know what drove her, what drove these people to commit their crimes. No one would know the motive, the real people under the role of the victim and the culprit—however those are divided. No one would know the better and it would become a new case, a new stack of paperwork—but never, never the truth."
He had lived an excuse of a life in a timeline like that. He had learnt of incidents that were never uncovered, victims killed in cold blood that never received the most basic respect—the 'police' went out and when a civilian committed it, looked into it, when the syndicate committed it, cleaned up. Rum introduced a law—an actual, damned law—that murderers could leave unpunished if the victim was confirmed to have conspired with the enemies of the syndicate. Rum released the list of those so-called enemies and put a bounty on their heads. Rum made it that those people could be killed without punishment, no, their murderers were rewarded.
He remembered how the list started.
Kudo Shinichi.
"You can understand a part of their hell now, old man."
…
"If they never meet…"
"If they never meet, then all of this could be resolved without a shot." And he could save her and rekindle her hope, he added in his mind. "I have to beat them in this race, which is still possible—an hour of advance is little when one has the police and the syndicate on his heels. He is unable proceed as fast as lawful citizens can. He must be still somewhere near Karuizawa. Hokuriku Shinkansen can take us there in the nick of time to crash this party. I have to set out for that now, so—there is a favour you need to do for me, old man. You have to find a couple of civilian clothes and sneak me out of this hospital for me to handle this."
Kogoro was stunned for a second, then placed his hands onto his shoulders.
"Listen, Kudo. You have to remain here."
"But—"
"You should make a call as the prophet and the local police would do as you bid—see, there is no need for you to be present in person. You kids are under police protection, and if you left and the syndicate noticed you, then the whole purpose would be defeated."
"I have to be there! I must be there!"
"You can tell the police to convey whatever you want to tell!"
He batted away his hands.
"Let me. This is not a case for the police to handle. I have never planned the police to have this, because of that reason. You people were supposed to find her and then, hand this over to me. I know more about her than you. I know exactly what to tell to her to convince her of our competence—the police could never do that. You have never even considered that she could view us as a corrupt association where she would meet her end. You have never counted with the fact that she has lived in constant fear for her life, in a world where a mistake could be fatal. I trust the police of this time. I trust them but—old man, let me handle this one."
"You prideful little…—this is not only about you, Kudo!"
"Then tell me. Tell me what the—"
He bit the sentence.
Ran.
He looked at the person under the blankets, at the face of the person that radiated so much peace and innocence that he had sworn to protect. He wavered at the implication that—a sound, a quiet moan came from her direction. Please sleep pleasesleep—
"Akemi-san deserves a chance. I want to save her too, so use the police, use the fame of the prophet, use whatever needed to save her." He received a response in a sunken voice, a voice that sounded so alike a plea that it was painful to hear. "Hell, use me—if you need that to keep yourself hidden. Ran—you protected her well, but her role in those elaborate plans have put her into the crossline too. I believe you and understand your ambitions. I want to catch these criminals before this place turns into your future, but my family is not up for use. Your reveal would make it only a matter of time that she would be known too, and then—then—"
He looked away, a shadow over his eyes.
He had already failed, then.
"Mouri-san. Too late."
"What—"
"The syndicate possesses a fraction of their future power at this point, but that is enough to find a way into police databases. I knew, knew for the start that this police protection was destined to fail. I would never underestimate the police, but their detectives are not equipped to deal with a threat like this. I have to take this task for that reason. I have the information and experience to stop the syndicate before they become uncontainable. I know. I know that makes me a threat to them that needs to disappear and thus, everyone else around me too. I have lived this, and know how horrible it is, and believe me that this is not what anyone wanted—it is unavoidable."
He wondered at times like this what would have happened if he never told anyone, if he planned and executed each of his actions on his own and distanced himself from everyone that he did not want to burn with him. He had done that before, he had done the opposite now, but all routes appeared to lead to the same resolution. He wanted an option where he could take on all the hardships and properly protect his people—nah, that was his idealism—
"You remember yesterday. There can be an assassination plan in motion."
"Kudo, whatever you say, this hospital is—"
…
"What is this weird scent?"
…
…
Shinichi opened the door to a chaotic mess of rampant panic and bewilderment. His mind shoved a number of unpleasant pictures to the forefront of his memory at the scene over there—people ran in all directions, doctors shouted orders that went amiss in the clamour, an old man tripped and caused a commotion, a mother missed her son, a—then, a nurse wheeled patient down the corridor, tires rattled on the floor and—flashed from his vision.
He quickly stepped back to the room.
"Ran! Ran—damn, wake up!"
Ran came around at the constant shakes and shouts from her father and saw the alarmed expression on his face—she was full of questions, question like what had made her father that worried, but her hand immediately reached to her mouth and nose as the characteristic scent hit her with full force too. He wanted to explain, but there was no time, especially if this was what he suspected. He wanted to explain that they would have to run, to escape and hide and calm her at the same time that he would take care of the threat, that she did not need to be afraid as long as she trusted him and her father but there was simply no time—
"Ran, sorry. Later."
He yanked her out of the bed and bolted.
Kogoro followed.
He entrusted his subconscious with the navigation through the chaos—it was basic skill, he had to lead his people away from where bodies and equipment pushed to each other in a turbulent flow towards the nearest exit. His hold on her arm was secure, painfully so—however, a small bruise on her arm was better than her death under the feet of the crowd. He did not look back, but he could feel the old man close on his track too.
He sometimes hated that he always drew the correct conclusions. His mind was trained for that, sure, but he wanted to experience the pleasant disappointment that a catastrophic resolution that popped up at the end of his deduction did not happen.
He had not meant his words literally.
And nonetheless, what he had chalked up as the worst possibility was reality. His enemies stepped over the confusion, collected their forces and pinned down his location, a hospital, which couped the stakes with additional hundreds of lives. He had risked his own life, more times than he remembered. He had risked the lives of those who had consented to that when his own did not suffice, he had sent them into one questionable situation after another in the future. He had risked the lives of those who had no choice, when it was between his plans or certain death. However, he had never risked the lives of those who had a choice. He had never taken away that treasure—but then, this could count as such. He looked around—everyone, everyone who happened to be present were thrown into the crossfire.
He did not have a choice there though.
He had to be somewhere, he could not cut himself off the civilisation and live in a cave. He had to ensure a better future before that, at least. And until that, he was bound to have people in his proximity. The three of them passed by another bunch of visitors that demanded a faster escape route amidst complaints on the awful scent and the mental pressure. He himself felt it harder to breathe with each minute spent between the walls that suddenly appeared inescapable—a cold fear appeared in his chest, a paranoia that forecasted a future where masses of people died, where people were trampled or abandoned or suffocated or—the list went on.
These people were not professionals equipped to deal with such situations.
These people were ordinary men, women and children.
These people were innocent bystanders.
How. Dare. They.
He passed by a person of curious calmness—a split second, but that told all. His eyes followed the person that emitted that wretched presence, a crow about to head into the heat and—a fury, a relentless fury was unleashed inside him. He forced himself to focus ahead, to contain himself, to slip from their trap. He reasoned with himself—the person did not have any protective equipment, this was for the panic, a diversion, a mere scare.
He saw the exit. He had won this round.
…
(But the hunt was on.)
…
…
A man busted the door to the room that his bosses pinpointed.
A man cursed aloud when he saw the empty premise.
…
Shinichi looked around the tram paranoically, in search of the smallest clue that pointed at the fact that someone had followed them. He determined that the sleepy commotion on board were normal citizens to the last person, but he pulled the hood of his coat into his face nonetheless—mental note, thank the old man for the mental presence to have snatched the piece of clothes in his room that could conceal his features effectively and protect him from instantaneous hypothermia.
A heavy silence persisted between the three of them.
He was alone with his retrospection—he wondered, he wondered what had caused this timeline to crash so early. He wondered how he could have avoided this all-out confrontation, he wondered if it was as unavoidable as he had said—no, it was not. He rewatched his memories inside his mind, his arrival—he was kind of suspicious there, he admitted that, his realisation—the professor was a reasonable choice that profited a lot later, his persona—it could have used a bit more contemplation, but should have sufficed nevertheless, her—uhh, he could not reason with that decision, his actions at the island—now, that was the problem. His enemies were more ferocious than usual, no, that was an excuse. He should have known better. He should have been better—and here, he had said that he had the experience!
No.
He did not have the time for that.
He had to come up with a plan, and fast.
His parents—he remembered, he remembered when those two kidnapped him and wanted to take him overseas. He could accept the offer this time, in the name of his acquaintances too. He could have tremendous resources in his pocket—the temptation was there, but the cons too. His enemies reached over oceans and continents—the concept of a safe place was incomprehensible in that context. He could indeed proceed more efficiently with resources, however, his reaction time would be off from distance—he would not be present in person, he would not see in person, he would not react in person. To shoot the idea down permanently, there was no chance for him to establish contact with his parents or leave the country in the first place—he would be taken out before that, and his companions would follow his suit.
He discarded the abroad route, however, that left him with no options. His house was out of question—nah, that would be the first place the crows would check out, and theirs was too—that marked as the second place. The professor was too close to his house, whoever was sent to hunt him down would find that suspicious. A question round and his connection to the professor would be out and—no, the professor had too much information to be let off.
He then had an idea—an insane idea, but an idea nevertheless.
"Mouri-san,"
He looked towards the old man, who reciprocated the attention.
"You said not to talk until home."
"If we keep it down, the noise stifles it."
Ran noticed their conversation too, and listened in. He collected the pieces of ideas that had scattered in his mindscape and formed it into a usable plan. He winced at the obnoxious insanity himself when he put the parts next to each other, however, this appeared to be the best available solution.
He looked at his watch.
"For now, we will head back to your place. You have to pack every necessity, toiletries, clothes, phones and some cash—one backpack, and not more. You will have to hurry, as we have less than ten minutes before their men would realise that we have escaped the hospital and start to search the places where we could disappear to. I know that this is sudden, but we must avoid their capture—that said, a good hiding place will be hard, no, impossible to find."
He took in a breath.
"Because of that, our destination will be Ueda city."
…
"Excuse me?!"
Kogoro quickly quieted down after he noticed the eyes his outbreak had drawn.
"Kudo, you have two minutes to explain unless you want me to admit you to the mental ward with clinical insanity."
"I hate to break your bubble, old man, but there is no safe place in this country, no, potentially in the world. Think about the runaway accomplice we have talked about—we are in the same shoes as him. No matter where we hide, their hands will reach us sooner or later. From the nearest hotel to the house of your middle school best buddy—every location in connection with us will be searched. You have to choose from no places. How would you decide?"
"I would avoid a situation that would require it."
He rolled his eyes.
"Ah, sure. You are a tad bit too late for that."
"And whose fault is that—"
…
"Beika, fifth district. Repeat, Beika fifth district."
…
Shinichi locked eyes with his two companions.
"Ten minutes, start."
…
…
The scene was, to put it simply, a catastrophe.
Megure opened the door as soon as the patrol car pulled over by the hospital and was on his way. He could not believe his eyes—people, patients and visitors alike, were around the entrance huddled into small bunches, based on familial or friendly acquaintanceship. He could catch phrases of concern, demands for an explanation, and feel the frustration—why, why had not the authorities intervened sooner and kept them safe from that menace. He pulled his hat to his eyes—he knew, those were words of the pressure that craved for someone to blame, that it was not their fault, the police had no way to know that this would happen.
Shiratori took up his pace, and opened his notebook.
"Megure-keibu, the report on the incident has arrived." His assistant took the silent rush approval to continue. "Haido Third Hospital has been exposed to a gas leak, a severe one at that. The mechanic team that fixed the problem determined that the leak must have been human-induced."
He was furious. "Another one of those incidents?"
"I understand that point of view, however, we cannot declare this incident the work of the same party without proper inspection. I instructed all available men to prioritize the lives of the civilians and help wherever possible until the medical staff finishes with the check-ups." He respected that decision, despite how much he itched to dissect the case and catch whoever was responsible—which was probably that wretched syndicate. "There were no fatalities, which was, from our initial appraisal of the situation, a miracle. So far, a total of sixty people is listed as mild casualties, and seven people vanished in the incident. And, uhm—"
He was about to prompt him to continue—
"Kudo Shinichi is one of those seven."
He stopped.
"What—"
"Kudo Shinichi has disappeared, sir."
Megure rarely showed physical signs of distress. He was hard to distress in the first place—over twenty years on the police force had made him immune to the scare of the moment, and allowed him to maintain a calm front that was essential to keep the widest variety of situations under strict control. However, that sentence, that one sentence that their ward, the teen detective under their protection, vanished without reason, made him pale. His mind went blank about what to do—he hoped, he honestly hoped that the teen escaped the hospital to save himself and that was it. He remembered the circumstances—he swallowed.
He could not accept—no, he did not want to. He did not want to accept that he was snatched from under their noses. He did not want to accept that he, who had helped him more times he could count was in trouble because of his incompetence. He did not want to accept that the teen—a child, a talented child who had done much, much more for the people than anyone had credited him, was in the hands of criminals ready to—to—
He had to find him immediately.
…
…
Ran opened her closet—a quick appraisal, a decision and a knitted sweater was yanked from the pile of neatly folded clothes. Her presence fluctuated inside her room—here in a moment, there in another. Her room turned uncharacteristically depressive all of a sudden—the colours dulled, her bed looked like a hard and uncomfortable place, her desk looked like a mess of mementos of her life and the entirety of her home appeared as a stack of details too much to keep in mind.
Her attachment to her physical possessions screamed not to leave her favourite clothes, her photos and—yet, all of that felt unimportant. Her entire life defined by those possessions felt so unimportant—her friends, school, karate, all, all seemed unimportant in face of what she knew.
Her hand moved to stuff the photo on her desk into the backpack—oh, it was full.
"I will take you there once this is settled, mark my words."
Shinichi was in the doorframe.
"Ah, there is no—"
He walked in and zipped her backpack close—that made her understand, she was out of time. A moment later, all traces of their presence and intentions vanished. Her room turned even more depressive after the door was shut, after the apartment was locked and closed for undetermined time. A cloud crept in front of the winter sun that covered the abandoned interior in an ominous shade, conserved the scenery until the tides turned in their favour.
And on her bed, a photo of them awaited that day.
…
…
"Prof, they found me. We have to leave. Keep my identity secret."
…
Agasa was unsure how to react to the news the police dumped on him—or at least, they lived in the illusion that they were the ones to break that to him. He had finished breakfast and had been about to check the index for cases in the near future—a habit now, he had collected a nice amount of experience in future prediction himself, as the actual mastermind in hospital and under surveillance handed over the trivial cases to him and his pseudo voice moderator. He thus brewed himself a cup of coffee, seated himself on the chair in front of his computer and checked his phone as the device buzzed into life and screen lit up with blue, and—oh boy.
He took a hesitant sip from his cup. Two others stood on the table, untouched.
"I know that this blatant failure is a shame to the police, however, the search will continue—"
He was frustrated with the teen. He was forced to make a decision—until now, he followed the lead without a doubt or question but this once, he was left without a clear instruction. He had to make a decision, which was would be the task of the time traveller under normal circumstances. He worried that he would mess up—slip up, or raise unneeded suspicions with his secrecy. He could not weave the words like him and this moment could potentially ruin his plans.
He sweat dropped at the deep bow offered to him on courtesy of the inspector.
"I appreciate the effort, inspector, but that would be unnecessary."
"What do you mean? I told you that—"
"Shinichi-kun left on his own accords. Look, here."
He fetched his phone and showed the text he had received as evidence. He believed that the sender himself would not want the police to waste tremendous resources to find him when he wanted not to be found. He watched the overwhelm of concern leave the inspector and relief take its place.
"I see. I see—now that is clear, we can take a breath."
He finished his cup of tea with leisure. He was thankful that the conversation went so smoothly—he meant, he kinda expected the police to question him about the time travel, uh, future prediction cases should they ever show up on his doorstep, but he was fortunately mistaken.
Shiratori was, apparently, ready to deny that conclusion.
"However, there is an uncanny number of unexplained details that appears to connect at one Kudo Shinichi. I know little about the early moments of the case dubbed as the prophet case amidst the police heads, but his involvement is obvious from the observation of the events only. I know that this topic is probably overdiscussed due to the number of people who like to connect the dots even when it is uncalled for, but to think that a teen, detective or not, stumbled upon a syndicate unknown to the authorities for decades sounds rather curious to me. I think the opinion of the person listed as his closest available relative would count."
He would have liked to facepalm—indeed, it was overdiscussed.
"There is a syndicate around that set an island of fire, assassinated people and carried out an act of terror in a hospital—naturally, the task force could not afford to look that over. I have family connections. I know that the police collaboration created to solve the future prediction cases newfound prioritizes that syndicate because of the unprecedented threat those criminals mean and the assumed ambition of the prophet to take them down. Now—that can be his true aim, to make the police realise the threat and deal with his enemies, so that he would not have to deal with them alone. There is no problem there and from a month of perspective, we can conclude that his intentions are noble, but his protectiveness of his privacy and source of information are still open doors that assume ties with the syndicate itself."
"Shiratori-kun—"
"No, inspector. I have done my research, well, as much as possible with my status. Kudo was literally everywhere—from my information, he was around when the case started up, followed the futile leads with the task force—remember, he is a talent whose status quo is one case one day—then conveniently popped up on every instance the syndicate did too and now, he left on his own will. His presence at these incidents shows too much of a pattern to be dismissed, even from the perspective of an assistant inspector without access to strictly classified documentation. I have a reason to believe based on the circumstantial evidence that he is an informant."
"Shiratori-kun, please—"
"Kudo Shinichi can be part of the task force to monitor the police, meanwhile he cooperates with the prophet. And the best part is that that can work so well—excuse my bluntness, inspector, but you are extremely biased about him. He does whatever he wants—yes, he uses that to save lives. He revealed a serious threat to us, and helped to prevent a number of crimes should these assumptions prevail. I know, he would have no reason to hide that fact unless there is more."
"Shiratori-kun, this is your speculation. We are not here to bother—"
Shiratori stood up in momentum, hands on the table.
"You plan to make the police pretend that this is totally explainable and acceptable as a solution, then?!" Shiratori barked a sharp response before he restored his composure. "You have to excuse the outburst, but the concern of my uncle is understandable. He insisted to have me look into the case when the chance presented itself—this case has crossed a border, a border that mark where the authorities should be in control and not an unknown person."
"Uh, so you looked into a restricted case because of your uncle?"
"His name is Ninzaburo Keisuke, a secretary to the minister of internal affairs."
Uh, oh.
Now, that was most certainly not in the index.
He sweated under his clothes, hopefully unbeknown to the police in front of him. He had been positive that the support he had put under the teen was, while questionable at times, not a crime. He had never even considered that he would be called out for distraction of police procedure or whatnot—no, future prediction should not count as that. He meant, he did advise people on how to avoid their murders and aided direct interventions—uh, okay. He could see the point.
Nevertheless. He was questioned by the nephew of a ministry official. He was positive that with that kind of interest in his back, his lies would be revealed eventually, so he decided to operate with omission instead. Shinichi had instructed him keep his prophet persona in secret from the police, but not to hide the existence of the syndicate or his connection to it. He would deem that to be irrational at this point—the threat was pretty much obvious, even to the police. He should tell them about its real extent, for the safety of the civilians—that was decided. He remembered the old phrase, that the best lie was sometimes born from the truth.
He could feel the eyes on him, with a demand for a reaction.
…
"Let's finish our drinks before we start."
…
…
Megure Juzo had been a police officer for decades. He had seen and done much, much more than those who came after him had. He had been active in the shadow decade, a time when to be a police officer was not the most reclaimed career prospect. He had been involved in altercations between the law enforcement and the collaboration of crime syndicates, and with those encounters etched into his mind, he believed that that had been the lowest, the worst it could become.
He stood in front of the apartment in the somewhat familiar part of the town. He had passed it a couple of times on a rush to a crime scene, however, he had never taken the time to appraise—the apartment where his disappeared friend spent his life had a little café under it. He could picture his friend sit behind the counter and raise a hand to order a coffee. He had never known his life. He had never known his other, teen friend either, apparently. He was preoccupied with the moment to see the connections underneath. He put down crime syndicates as an issue of the past and failed to realise that a threat so monumental, so incomprehensible was born.
Kudo did collaborate with the prophet.
Kudo. He somehow established contact with the prophet. A man whom the syndicate stripped from his possessions—left him without an ounce of power. A man whom the syndicate stripped from his identity—made him a shell of a person without a name. A man whom the syndicate stripped from his friends and family—with a sadistic method, so that he would face the next death as he recovered from the previous one. A man whom the syndicate stripped from his humanity—captured, broke and mutilated him to the point that he did not want to believe. A man that seeked help from the most prominent detective of the era to expose the horrid truth. And their reckless teen detective promised to stand into the case, to lead the counteraction, to initiate a takedown and make the syndicate take responsibility for their horrific deeds.
He wanted to think that the old professor made that up. He wanted to, but—the prophet aided his newfound accomplice with information. He told information that he had overheard, information about the syndicate, and whatever cases those people were aware of. He found it unbelievable that a syndicate, however powerful, could predict the actions of individuals to the point that they could pin down who would commit what and when and how. He found that prospect terrific—that meant, that meant that the population was monitored, that none of them stood a chance, that this country and the related assets was already in the hands of criminals.
He was concerned. He was concerned for his friends, for his fellow detectives, for the future. He was concerned for the teen detective—a child, a child whose place was behind the school desk. He should have concentrated on his exams and had fun. He should have not felt the need to take an unspeakable burden on himself to settle the matter of adults. He was not supposed to break his back to resolve this case—he did, he broke his back all the time because his compulsion did not allow him not to use his full power, not to bet his all and dedicate his life to the truth. His decision was so understandable. He was expected to handle whatever the world threw at him, because of his renewed expertise and the public opinion that tended to overlook certain circumstances for a sensation, which expectations he never failed to live up to.
He pulled his hat into his eyes.
He felt like he was at fault somehow. He could never decide how to handle the talented teen that showed an attraction to crime scenes. He knew his father, and that explained the son too. He never asked. He let the child wander around as he was not that troublesome, no, rather the opposite. He should have taken the hint when the child started to interrupt his deductions, added omitted fact here and there and made corrections. He watched and never asked.
And before he knew, the myth was born.
He should have hit the brakes. He should have, but—this child was a bless. He lost count of the cases closed thanks to his intellect. He trusted him without question—he was biased, he was without a doubt, but he should have known that he would, sooner or later, bite off more than he could chew.
He wished that he would win. He wished that he would outshine the expectations once more. He wished that he would live to become an adult and a wonderful detective. He wished that he would find happiness for himself too. He wished that he would never have to experience the loss of a loved one. He wished that he would not suffer, that he would not think of his life as throwaway material for a case to be closed, be it however important or widespread.
And rain started to patter onto the concrete.
…
(He did not know the actual truth.)
…
…
Akemi stared at the river with sorrowful eyes. Her scarlet ensemble from her previous pretend occupation was rustled in the bouts of the mountain winds. Her arms rested on the handrail that marked the border between the road and the riverbed, a mile beyond the last speck of the urban environment.
Her attention was focused on the waves of the river. At times like this, when there was no one around to observe and report her moves, that she allowed herself to appreciate the small details of her environment that were invisible between the important missions and whims of her syndicate. Her mind used the peaceful flow of the water to avert her attention of her mistake and the consequences that implied—her sister would be alone, alone in the ruthless syndicate that used her as a resource. Her promise would be broken, her promise that she would end her pain and provide her with freedom, a chance at an honest life—hah, what a pipe dream—
…
An unknown car spun next to her in an insane manner.
…
Published: 16/07/2023
So, this chapter escalated fast, which was to be expected after the previous one. To be continued.
Thanks for everyone who returned to this story after half a year (or discovered it now).